By the time she arrived at the cemetery, drenched and gasping, she saw two figures not far away. Soren was kneeling on one knee, tying an immortal knot bracelet on Agatha’s wrist. His voice was gentle. “Sister, I’ve brought the person I love to see you. Her name is Agatha—she’s the most beautiful and kind girl in the world. Six years ago, in that car accident, she risked her life to donate 1,000cc of blood for me… if it weren’t for her, I’d be dead. Sister, I’ll treat Agatha well forever. Please bless us from heaven.”
Linnea froze, the pain she had been forcing down now roaring back—her chest felt like it was burning to ash.
Six years ago, when they were most in love, Soren had been in that accident while buying her a red velvet cake. Critically injured, he needed blood—his rare type. It had been the pregnant Linnea who rushed to the hospital and donated all 1,000cc. She went into shock and lost the baby. She’d even told the doctor not to tell him, afraid he’d blame himself. And yet, somehow, Agatha became the “savior” in his memory.
Even if she told him the truth now, he would only mock her.
Soren strode over, cold fingers clamping her arm. “Kneel.”
She said nothing, obediently sinking to her knees before Ellie’s grave, banging her forehead against the stone.
Every year on this day, he found a new way to torment her. The first year, he made her scatter her father’s ashes at the grave and gather them again, bone by bone, until not a gram was missing—her fingers shattered and bleeding. The second year, she carried a hundred-pound slab up the mountain to carve Yinyin’s tombstone herself. The third year, she copied the Sutra of Rebirth a thousand times, her hands raw and bloody. The fourth year, she spent the night locked in the cemetery with five half-starved dogs.
This year, bodyguards arrived carrying a large box. Inside were all her memories with Soren.
He picked up their wedding photo, his wrist trembling.
“Soren, don’t…” she choked, dragging herself forward to clutch his leg.
But he smashed the frame to the ground, glass shattering across the wet grass. One by one, he destroyed everything: the scarf he’d knitted for her, the couple’s mugs, the blood-stained wedding dress—until only their marriage certificate remained.